


Looking

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, also i wrote this for the groupchat and no one can stop me, librarian and pawn shop owner au is the new florist/tattoo artist; fight me about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 10:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13996065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On his search for a book, Hermann meets the eccentric owner of his local pawn shop.





	Looking

**Author's Note:**

> florist/tattoo artist is OUT, pawn shop owner/librarian is IN.

Hermann stares up at the sign of one Chao’s Pawn Shop and begins to seriously regret his decision. 

Mako had advised him this shop had a book he needed - the last in an author’s collection, almost entirely lost. He’d looked in every book store he could find and more to no avail; it seems as though this may be his last option. He sighs deeply and pushes forward. 

Inside is far worse than outside. There are shelves and boxes everywhere, and items crowding every open space. He can’t even see the counter for all of the clutter. He nearly knocks a strange looking helmet off the top of a box, but catches it just in time. He passes a wall with at least 15 cuckoo clocks on it, and thanks God it’s nowhere near the hour. 

Eventually, after passing more and more rows of strange items (including what he thinks may be a stack of biological specimens suspended in jars), he makes it to the back counter. No one is present, but there’s a small bell situated between a cup of stray pencils and a piece of paper covered in indecipherable handwriting, so he rings it. Once, twice. No one comes to his aid. 

He frowns and glances around as he rings again. All he can see from his point of view is the left corner, which houses a mirror and piles upon piles of old clothes (including a wedding dress, how sad), and the right corner, with trinkets lined up on layered shelves. Behind the counter, hanging precariously on the wall, is a rack of old acoustic guitars. He rings the bell again. 

“Coming, coming, give me just a second!” He hears a voice say, muffled by a wall. He hears approaching footsteps, and then a door on the wall swings open to reveal a scruffy man, clutching a wire cutter in one hand and a fork in the other. “Can I help you?”

Hermann doesn’t bother to ask. “Uh, yes. I was wondering if you had a copy of  _ Le Port de Nuit _ ?” He pulls his hands back from the counter as the man sets down his things almost on top of his fingers. “It’s the last in a collection; I’ve been looking for it for some time.”

The man frowns. “French, huh?” He walks around the counter and gestures for Hermann to follow him. “I have a feeling I’ve seen that one around here somewhere.”

Hermann follows the man through twisting isles of miscellaneous items until they reach three towering bookshelves, all packed near to bursting. 

“Uh, French…” The man murmurs. He scans across the collection with his finger. “What’d you say the title was again?  _ Le Port de _ …?”

“ _ Nuit _ .” Hermann says. 

“Right.” The man resumes his search. After a minute or so, he pulls a book down with a proud “A-ha!” and brandishes it with a grin. “Your book.”

Hermann takes it from his hand. He goes for a polite smile, but can’t help breaking into a broad grin. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been looking for this. Thank you, Mr…?”

“Geiszler.” The man grins. “But please, call me Newt.”

Hermann furrows his brows. “Your given name is Newt?”

Newt shrugs. “Short for Newton. Also, it’s doctor, not mister.”

Hermann blinks in surprise. “You have a doctorate, and you run a pawn shop?”

“Six, actually.” Newton says. “And it’s a favor, to an old friend. He kicked the bucket and left the shop to me. Better than teaching bored 20-somethings, anyway.” He rolls up his shirt sleeves as he talks, and Hermann notices his arms are covered in tattoos. He can’t help but stare.

What an interesting man. 

“So,” Newton says, breaking Hermann out of his zone. “What’d you need this book for, anyway?”

“I run a library.” Hermann says. “It’s about a block from here, actually. To think, I’d been looking online or in antique book shops and it was right within my grasp this entire time.” He says, smiling down at the book’s faded cover. 

Newton is grinning at him when he looks up. Hermann finds himself blushing. “You run the old library on River Grove?” Newton says. “The one that was converted from an old house?”

“Yes, that would be it.” Hermann says. “Shall I pay now, or…?”

“Dude, I’ve never been there.” Newton says. He starts walking back to the counter, so Hermann follows him. “I always went to the one up on Price Street, even though it’s, like, a whole mile farther.” He grabs the book from Hermann’s grasp as he walks back behind the counter. “Now I finally have an excuse to go!” He scribbles something on the paper with one of the many, many pencils in the cup by the register and grins. “That’ll be 20.25.”

Hermann hands him a twenty and a quarter. “Thank you, Newton. Your help has been much appreciated.”

“Dude, seriously, call me Newt.” Newt says. “Speaking of names, what’s yours?”

“Dr. Gottlieb.” Hermann says. “But...you can call me Hermann.”

“Hermann.” Newt grins. “You have a doctorate, and you run a library?”

“A favor,” Hermann says. He gives Newt a shy smile as he tucks the book carefully into his shoulder bag. 

 

The following day, Hermann is organizing the library’s log behind the front desk when he hears the door swing open. He looks up, and there’s the man from yesterday - Newt, 6-PhDs-and-runs-a-pawn-shop Newt. He’s dressed nicer, compared to the day before, wearing a tie along with his button-up, and a leather jacket over the whole ensemble. 

“Hermann!” Newt shouts as he catches sight of him. “Wait, shit, library.” He cringes as he walks over. “Sorry,” he says in a stage-whisper. 

“Quite alright,” Hermann says. He takes his glasses off and lets them go. “What brings you here, Newton?”

“Dude, you really  _ are  _ a librarian.” Newt says. He pokes the glasses hanging on a chain around Hermann’s neck. “You’ve got the look. I dig it.”

Hermann tries his best to hide his blush with a frown, but he can tell his lip is tugging up at the corner in that way that gives away his smile. Newt seems to catch it, the bastard, and grins. 

“Would you believe me if I said I came here to check out a book?” Newt asks.

“No.” Hermann says. “I believe you have an ulterior motive, Dr. Geiszler.”

“That I do, Dr. Gottlieb.” Newt says. He suddenly looks very nervous, the suave exterior gone. Maybe Hermann’s going crazy (too much time spent among books, perhaps) but he thinks he can see a blush creeping its way up Newt’s neck. 

“Newton,” Hermann says. “I believe I know what it is you’re here to ask me, and I’d just like to say…” He trails off a bit, biting his lip, still trying to hide his smile. Again, it doesn’t work. “I get off of work at 7. And I like Italian food.”

Newt stops wringing his hands and grins. “Oh! Great!” His voice rises above acceptable library volumes again, but he doesn’t notice. It also gets squeaky, and Hermann hates how endearing he finds it. “I, uh, I get off at 6. I can pick you up from here at 7, then?”

“Absolutely,” Hermann says. 

Newt grins again. Hermann wasn’t mistaken - the blush has made its way up his neck and affected his whole face. He grins at Hermann as he backs out towards the door, and nearly knocks over a display on his way. 

With a small, shy smile, Hermann puts his glasses back on and writes the date in his calendar. 


End file.
